The Chinese Spymaster

by Hock G Tjoa

  Wang responded seriously, “In intelligence work, we learn not to read an event that has happened into the evidence.” Sensing puzzlement all around, he relaxed and smiled. “After an event, the breaking up of a relationship, the invasion by Germany of Belgium and France, creating a new department in the MFA—whatever you wish, it is easy to find the evidence and put all together in a way that explains the event, perhaps even showing how the outcome was inevitable.”

  “Is he always like this?” asked Younger Sister Shu.

  “Oh, yes, very deep,” said Old Friend Chen, the General. “Sometimes it takes me days to figure out what he has said, and as for why he chooses to tell me anything, well—”

  As the General caught Wang’s eye, he winked. Younger Sister Shu whispered to Wen, “Older Brother, is the General pulling my leg?”

  Wen replied, “Yes, but only a little.”

  Shu persisted. “The development of intelligence gathering in a professional manner in the SCO is a good thing, and I don’t understand why Brother Wang declines to take the credit.”

  “Oh, I admit that I had a part in this development, but I don’t deserve all the credit,” said Wang. “Also, in intelligence work, we believe that if the outcome or conclusion of a mission or an event were different, it is not because the evidence or documents have changed. We may have had the wrong information or interpreted it wrongly, but the evidence is the evidence. After the event, it becomes clear what is relevant.

  “My predecessor at the Agency always reminded us that the value of intelligence work was to anticipate future actions or developments. Because of him, we have the department that Analyst Tang has ably led. Now I have to find her successor.”

  “I see Older Brother is adroit at changing the subject,” said Shu.

  “Get used to it,” said Mrs. Wen. “These men all are. For months, I couldn’t get a straight answer about arranging a dinner with the two of you.”

  “That was entirely my fault,” said Wang.

  Mrs. Wen looked at him with the gleam of triumph in her eyes. Her sister looked pleased. General Chen rolled his eyes at Old Wen and said, “He could have saved us much grief.”

  “My apologies, Old Friends, it was not the right time. Now I am glad Mrs. Wen persisted. I am pleased to be making the acquaintance of Miss Shu. But seriously, running the Analysis Department is something of an art. Analyst Tang will be very difficult to replace.”

  “Both of your assistants are making very good moves,” Shu interjected. “They deserve these opportunities. Their knowledge of intelligence matters will bring ‘iron and stone’ into the MFA, while their experience in the MFA will add to how they perceive the world. China gains from all this.”

  “What about the interim head you have in mind?” asked Wen, who knew about Owyang’s inspired research into Jiang’s past.

  “She is very good as an analyst. But my own experience makes me wish she had some exposure to operations as well. We will see if that makes such a big difference after all. We old folks like to think that there are no new ways to get things done. Anyway, the MFA was very accommodating to my request for Tang to return to us one week a month.” Wang wondered, Did the Department of Organization, Sister Shu in particular, have anything to do with this? Not a suitable topic for dinner conversation. The ways and means of that Department are intentionally murky.

  “I really feel uneasy about Elder Jiang and what happened to him,” said Chen.

  “Me too,” said Wang. “Chinese society has been, and continues to be, too rigid.”

  “Think of the young girl he seduced!” declared Mrs. Chen.

  “That’s exactly who I was thinking of,” said Wang, protesting somberly. “Jiang will get what he deserves, but who can undo the damage done to Kong’s mother and to Kong himself by our society?’

  Mrs. Chen added with a nod, “It is an old-fashioned reflex in our Chinese minds to make everyone associated with a wrong-doing ‘pay.’ The old histories speak of wiping out families of traitors to the ninth degree of genealogical separation.”

  The host Wen said, “Emperors and dynasties stayed in power in feudal times by making a whole village responsible for the behavior of everyone in it.”

  “But we are who we are,” said Shu evenly.

  “Maybe we could now change a little and show some compassion for relatives or fellow villagers of those accused of a crime,” suggested Wang. “Perhaps the Party will reflect on Comrade Jiang’s self-criticism and learn from it.”

  “Well, Special Prosecutor Lin is not going to show any leniency in the matter of Kong’s bribery case,” said Wen shaking his head. “And the top brass in the police force will support Lin fully. They do not wish to be the village that gets punished for the sins of one citizen.”

  “Is your life always so interesting, Brother Wang?” asked Shu, when the conversation grew less animated.

  “Whenever I get bored,” Wang replied, “I look for a Buddhist temple to visit.”

  “Really?” Shu asked, genuinely surprised.

  “Oh, yes, there are so many I have not seen yet.”

  “Is this interest of yours work-related?”

  “When I started out in intelligence work, a schoolteacher exploring old Buddhist sites was my favorite cover. The more I learned about the shrines, why they were built and who visits them, the more interested I became. In the agency, we believe that it improves the cover when one’s heart is in it.”

  “I have always wanted to visit the old temple on the West Hills,” Shu said, nodding in agreement. “But perhaps it is too touristy. I pass by it every day on my way to work and see many groups in large buses near it.”

  “The tourists have swarmed there indeed, but it is an ancient building that has witnessed remarkable events. It has an otherworldly quality worth exploring before the Department of Tourism improves on it too much.”

  20: VISITORS

  “A visitor from the west seeks to exchange information regarding our journey,” announced Analyst Tang with an playful smile. It was three weeks after the Chinese arrested Kim. With the recent resolution of the bribery case against Superintendent Kong, the arms dealer had just been released.

  “Someone who does not want to borrow the other half of my staff, I hope,” exclaimed Wang. The agency had just concluded the final arrangements with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs for assistance in setting up a security department for the MFA’s operations in the Shanghai Cooperation Organization. Ostensibly, this would involve developing a department that would liaise with the intelligence agencies of member countries.

  Off the record, Ambassador Yu had the blessings of the MFA and the Politburo to combine staff from the ministry and the Intelligence Agency to prepare position papers for consideration by the other members of the SCO. Matters such as the possible creation of a Pashtun state to be carved out of Afghanistan and Pakistan required exhaustive analysis. The Ambassador and the Spymaster agreed that it would be important to have a clear assessment of each member country’s understanding of what the SCO meant and what each really wanted from membership in the SCO.

  This meant that the new enterprise required both Administrator Hu and Analyst Tang. While not taken by surprise, Wang was distressed at the thought of having to find successors for both his senior aides in the immediate future. Hu would have to report almost immediately to SCO headquarters and begin a tour of the member states. Wang persuaded Yu that Tang should transition more gradually to the MFA, spending a week each month back at the agency to help her successor.

  “So, what does the British Spymistress want?”

  “She is here unofficially as a tourist. I believe she has in mind a meeting to tie up loose ends. It will be interesting.”

  “We have too much that is interesting,” grumbled Wang. Even as he said that, he knew that he looked forward to meeting Penelope Cecil again. “When should we expect her?”

  “She arrives next Thursday and will spend ten days in China, the first two nights and the last
three in Beijing. Other than her visit to us, she has no business planned.”

  “We should see her two nights before she leaves if that is convenient. See if we can get her into one of the usual hotels. I may be able to present her with something of an agency by then.”

  “I don’t remember him ever being as grumpy as this,” said Second Brother Ma who was preparing to take over from Administrator Hu.

  “It is his way of telling us that he will miss us,” replied Analyst Tang, who had the fast-tracked Analyst Owyang with her. It was the Spymaster’s hope that Owyang could act as his chief analyst for a year with Tang’s occasional visit to assist her. She had developed visibly greater self-confidence in the last two weeks and lost several kilos.

  “How much have you lost, anyway?”

  “I’m not telling.”

  “O.K. Is he worth it?”

  “Even if he is, don’t lose any more,” interjected Ma, drawing pointed jeers on his preference for “healthy” women. “What? I was just born into the wrong century. Ah, for the Tang dynasty.”

  “How did you do it?”

  “No dessert, no sugar water, and no dinner. Also, I started to walk two miles every day. I just get off the bus earlier and walk to and from the office.”

  “You gave up eating dinner?” asked Tang, incredulous at the thought.

  “Except when we go out,” Owyang replied, giggling.

  Administrator Hu’s last “mission” before his transfer to the SCO became effective was a trip to see Bo with Gong. They found him in an almost blissful state; he had recently married “the girl next door.”

  “I wanted to invite you and the others in our squad, but my bride was too shy. Please accept my apologies. She came back from the city three years ago to keep her mother company when her father died. They live just three doors down. She is ten years younger than I am.”

  “So, you robbed the cradle!” Gong exclaimed. They were, of course, very happy for him. Over dinner, they also discovered what a good cook she was, inventive with the meager resources available to her. She was a plain, shy country girl who left for the city to earn a living and sent what she earned home to her parents. When her father died, she returned, even though her mother was still capable of looking after herself.

  Hu noted that she had no visible sign of income and briefly entertained the uneasy feeling that she had married Bo for his meager pension. Then, he realized that looking after Bo and his mother was more work than the monthly checks Bo received would pay for. She served Bo’s mother first and then the men. As soon as she could, she excused herself to deliver dinner to her own mother, with whom she ate.

  Hu asked, “How do you all get to the hospital when you need to?”

  “It’s not easy, but with my wife, it is much better.”

  “Don’t the hospitals send a medical team around in vans regularly?” Old Gong asked.

  “Maybe they do, but we do not see them all that frequently. The town is only fifteen miles away, but the trip for my mother and me takes a whole day, between waiting for buses and waiting at the hospital. And even when we see the doctor, we usually don’t get what my mother needs.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Hu.

  “Well, she misses the old herb shop. The medicines from the hospital taste foreign to her and sometimes don’t seem to work. At least, that’s what she says.”

  Hu got up and asked Mother Bo what old herbs she was used to. She was delighted to find a young man so well versed in herbal lore and rattled off a dozen items, some for special occasions, and others for regular consumption. They also talked about what other villagers might want. Neither a gossip nor a busybody, Mother Bo took a keen interest in the aches and pains of the entire village, and she was persistent.

  Hu returned to his friends with a thoughtful smile. “Bo, how would you and your wife like to set up a small herb shop? I’ll send you a boxful of herbs to get you started for about three months. That will be on me. After that, you will need to order from this address and pay your way. It is a good business—my father started out this way.”

  Bo explained the set up to his wife when she returned, and she smiled through her tears. She had wanted a way to be more useful to her husband and her mother. She also knew what her mother-in-law thought about modern medicine.

  “Soon, I’ll be traveling more, but Old Gong will be in touch,” said Hu as he left.

  Gong added teasingly, “Please do not engage in any ‘expansion’ without inviting us.”

  Six members of the Intelligence Agency made their way separately to a snug and safe hotel in Beijing. It was one of those used by Chinese travelers and knowledgeable foreigners. It also often served the agency as a safe house. Ma reserved a secure room for the Spymistress and, for that night, a larger room as well that could be used to host meetings or dinners for small parties. Their security teams assured him they had swept both rooms that day to ensure they were clean. Wang met Second Brother on a street corner. They entered the hotel and knocked on Penelope’s door.

  “Hello, Spymaster,” said Penelope warmly. “And who is this?”

  “Ah, I’m afraid I am losing Administrator Hu. This is his replacement…”

  “Second Brother Ma. You may call me Second Brother or Ma—old Chinese custom.”

  The others soon arrived. When Agent Li entered, Penelope exclaimed, “You look familiar! You were the boatman in Guizhou and the monk in that monastery in Emei!”

  “Yes,” said Agent Li with a grin, not mentioning that he had also been a cab driver in Xi-an, a tea-seller by the Great Wall and a fellow passenger on the train from Shanghai to Beijing. His spy craft had improved by leaps and bounds, although his command of English still required work.

  “His job was to keep an eye on you, although we know you are well able to take care of yourself. We try to look out for each other,” said Wang. “While you are in China, you are one of us.”

  The English Spymistress simply shook her head. She wished she knew how her predecessor dealt with the Chinese Spymaster. Yet it was difficult to believe how it worked, like companies that adopt a corporate culture of ‘do no evil.’ What ‘business model’ could he possibly have?

  “Agent Li played a major role in one of our assignments related to the Pashtun business,” said Hu. “The rest of us participated in the second assignment. Both ended well for us, although we cannot take all the credit in either case.”

  “Administrator Hu, alas, leaves us next week. The Foreign Affairs people are going to try to make a diplomat out of him.”

  Since Wang did not elaborate, the Spymistress did not pursue the subject. She told her audience, “Well, the Americans helped us tackle two of the four assignments left, Tehran and Dubai. Both teams returned having successfully completed their missions last week. There were no casualties, although the mission to Tehran cost some assets that we had to extract. Our cousins have sent word that they have been successful with the arms dealer in Karachi, with the help of the Pakistan Intelligence Service, but they are not able to overcome their difficulties working with the Russians in Kazakhstan, so they are thinking up a workaround.”

  “Workaround?” Li blurted out before he could catch himself.

  Penelope smiled grimly and said, “It means finding a different solution, very different from the one originally designed or expected. We will find out if it works soon.”

  “Even if it closes the case of six dealers bidding to sell a nuclear device to the Pashtuns, I do not believe that will mean the end of them. I think they are more persistent as their history with the British, the Russians, and the Americans indicates.” The Spymaster gave Hu and Tang a quick look that signified the end of the general meeting.

  The Chinese team got up to move into the larger room for refreshments and dinner, leaving Wang and Cecil by themselves.

  “I hope you don’t mind a Chinese take-out meal,” said Wang. “I think you will find it more comfortable eating in this hotel than in a restaurant. Hu and Tang have
gone to make sure the room is ready. It is larger than this.”

  “I prefer it casual,” said Penelope. “Besides, I am only a tourist this time. I have something for you, though. It is actually from the wife of my predecessor. I paid her a call recently, and in the course of a long conversation, mentioned your name. She remembered that her husband spoke warmly of you and thought you might like to have this.”

  She handed Wang a large, thin envelope containing a photograph. “It was taken when he received his knighthood. He did not think much of it, but she was very proud of him. He autographed it for you, but it seemed to have slipped through the cracks until now.”

  The Spymaster was silent as he received this gift and looked at the picture for a full minute, lost in memory and reverence. He looked up at Penelope with a wry smile, saying, “Life must go on.”

  “Indeed. And I hear that congratulations are in order. The Foreign Secretary gave me specific instructions to convey his congratulations on your selection to the Politburo. You, of course, have my sympathies.” They both laughed, sincerely and heartily. “How does it feel to be one of thirty people responsible for all of China?”

  “It is much too early to tell.”

  “By the way, who is that pretty young woman? She seems so shy but the men around her are standing straight – chest out, stomach in.”

  “Her name is Owyang. She will try to fill in for Tang who will, I hope, make a slower transition than Hu to diplomacy.” Wang knew that Penelope could put two and two together with the best of them and did not bother to elaborate.

  “Well, I am more confident about your team of foreign policymakers than I am about ours.”

  “You will cope as well as we must.”